Julia Queenstown Estate Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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She’s a riddle, this prostitute. Face painted like a masque, eyes hollow as a grave. Met one once—called her Rose, tho’ she weren’t no flower. “How’s it hangin’?” I says, all casual-like. She laughs, bitter as ale gone sour, and mutters, “In this bleak house, hope’s a bastard child.” Swear she quoted Cuarón’s flick without knowin’ it! Made me grin, that did—smart lass, even if life’s kicked her teeth in.

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I hop on my bike, zooming down Holland Road. The air’s fresh, but my mood? Not so much. I’m thinking about that listing on Strathmore Avenue. It’s a sweet pad, but the owner? Total diva. She wants the moon and stars for it. Like, lady, it’s a 3-bedroom, not a palace!

Billionaire's fireworks party starts blaze near Queenstown